Out of the Blue
by hearteyesandbowties
Summary: All Blaine Anderson wants to do is sleep. After all, when you sleep, dreams usually follow. Inspired by Muchacha10's "Painting the Walls" on DeviantArt. Klaine. AU. Oneshot.


**Don't mind me, just casually acting as though it hasn't been months since I've posted fic.  
I know. I'm kind of a loser.  
But, I've been really busy. Senior year shenanigans and whatnot. **

**Anyways, if you travel over to Muchacha10's DeviantArt page, you'll find a drawing called "Painting The Walls", which is what inspired this oneshot. I've been wanting to write this for ages now, but, again, there just aren't enough hours in the day. I hope I did it justice.**

**Enjoy, and don't forget to leave feedback!**

**Disclaimer: I don't think I would claim ownership of this show even I had the chance to. So, no worries.**

* * *

It's that time of day when nothing is on television, and the world seems to turn the same shade of monotonic grey as the static that gradually overcomes the screen. This, combined with the sound of rain lightly pattering against his apartment window makes Blaine Anderson wish to do nothing but sleep. He didn't have any obligations for a few more hours, and he was in need of the rest. Exam week was in process, after all.

Not to mention the fact that sleep came with dreams. Sweet, sweet dreams.

That's the dealmaker, Blaine decides, groggily lifting himself from the floor and fumbling for the "mute" button on the remote. Somewhere in the back of his tired mind, he realizes that it may be a good idea to leave a note for his roommate – for both of their sakes. He shuffles through the random items on the coffee table, finding a notebook and tearing out a blank page.

"Kurt," he writes, "if you're reading this, then I'm more than likely passed out on the couch. I'm kind of exhausted, and I'd love if you let me sleep. If you need me, feel free to throw something at my head."

He forces his eyes open and uses the last of his energy to sign his name. The writing is much sloppier than his usual, the "n" and the "e" melting together into a lackadaisical swirl that even he has trouble reading. He tapes it to the wall directly inside the doorway and eagerly makes his way toward the couch. Sighing, he flops onto the cushions in the least graceful way possible. The pillow mashed against his face smells like coffee, vanilla, and an underlying scent of what can only be described as Kurt. Blaine lazily smiles and inhales until it becomes uncomfortable. His eyelids easily slip shut, images of his best-friend-slash-roommate promptly greeting him.

* * *

He's been asleep for a little over an hour when he hears the sound of a door slamming shut.

"Kurt?" he rasps, rubbing remnants of sleep out of his eyes. Footsteps approach him.

"Blaine?"

"Hi."

Kurt rolls his eyes fondly as Blaine's head pops up over the back of the couch, "I called to see if you were here. You didn't answer."

Blaine smirks, "I left you a note." When Kurt furrows his eyebrows, puzzled, Blaine directs him toward the door.

He spots it almost instantly and delicately tears the piece of tape from the wall. He reads it out loud ("Signed, I'm assuming your name?" "Shut up."), quickly crumples it in his hand, and launches it toward the other boy. The ball hits him right in the center of his forehead.

Kurt grins at Blaine's wide eyed expression and allows himself a brief moment of victory before speaking again, "So, you know how I've been trying to convince Leroy to let us paint in here for ages now?"

Blaine nods, spinning the ball of notebook paper between his fingers, "Well aware, yes."

"He said yes."

"He…really?"

Kurt confirms enthusiastically and picks up the bags sitting on the floor, "And I took the liberty of buying a few paint samples!"

* * *

Around half an hour later, Blaine finds himself surrounded by a small army of sample paint cans. Standing beside him is Kurt, arms crossed and eyes trained to the wall. In front of him are several color gradients, still wet and shining in the fluorescent light.

Blaine breaks his concentration, "By a few, I didn't think you meant twenty-one."

Kurt flushes and turns to him, "I had to be sure. This room has to be perfect."

"Of course it'll be perfect," Blaine nudges him. "I mean, you're the brain behind it all. I have no doubts."

A tiny smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, "You're only saying that because you have to."

Blaine stares at him, his jaw dropped slightly. "No, I'm not," he says. "You're incredible, Kurt."

The tone of his voice causes Kurt to look up at him curiously. Blaine gazes back intently, internally marveling at his newfound courage. He'd been harboring feelings for the other boy for several months, but he had tried as hard as he could to keep them hidden. The fear of such a confession affecting their friendship was too great – especially considering that they lived together. Blaine felt as though it was a fair sacrifice.

Kurt coughs softly, effectively pulling him out of reverie. He refocuses his attention on the color swatches and swallows roughly.

"What's this one called?" He asks, indicating to a medium-blue square on the right hand side of the wall. If Kurt notices how strained his voice sounds, he doesn't comment on it. Rather, he pulls the stack of sample strips out of his back pocket and flips through them, humming to himself.

He picks up a lid lying in between them and reads, "Ocean Breeze."

"Ocean Breeze," he repeats. "It's pretty."

"Blue's a good color," Kurt adds. He pivots on his heel and examines the room, holding the underside of the lid up as a reference. "I think it would work well in here, especially with our furniture."

"Our furniture," he murmurs quietly, his stomach jolting pleasantly at the connotation. "God, we sound so domesticated."

"We _are_ like an old married couple, remember?"

Blaine grins and opens his mouth to supply to sarcastic "till death do us part" that had always followed the comparison, but something in Kurt's expression stops him. He can't place a finger on why or how, but the atmosphere in the room suddenly feels much heavier.

"It is New York, you know," Blaine speaks before he has any mind to stop himself. "It could happen."

The grin that stretches across Kurt's face makes him fall apart entirely, but he forces himself to maintain eye contact.

"It could?" Kurt whispers, and Blaine can't remember how to breathe because the other boy is slowly stepping toward him, his eyes flickering between his eyes and – his lips?

Blaine swallows and releases an embarrassingly breathy affirmation and practically lunges at him, firmly planting his mouth over Kurt's and reveling in how incredible it feels. He's absently aware of the fact that paint is dripping down his ankle and soaking into his sock and shoe, and Leroy's probably going to kill them for ruining the floors, but he can't find it in him to care all that much.

They break, flushed and breathless. Kurt's hair is sticking up at odd angles, and Blaine realizes that his shirt is no longer fully tucked in. He also feels a strange wetness on the back of his neck.

Kurt notices it almost as soon as he does, "Oh my god, it's…I'm so sorry, Blaine. I forgot I was holding it, and-"

Blaine chuckles as he wipes a majority of the blue paint off with a swipe of his hand. "I didn't really give you much of a chance to do anything about it. But, I suppose it would only make sense for me to seek revenge." He smirks and spreads his fingers across Kurt's cheek, causing him to squeak defiantly and push his arm away.

Kurt looks upset, and for a moment, Blaine is worried that maybe he'd pushed too far – at least until Kurt is combing his paint-covered fingers through his hair, a mischievous glint in his eye. They spend the next slice of eternity utilizing their least conventional painting methods, until Blaine finally manages to catch Kurt in his arms, leaving light blue handprints against his skin.

Kurt quietly surveys the room, taking in the multicolored puddles across the floor and the messy semblance of progress on the wall. He giggles to himself, content. "We are so dead."

"Yeah."

"Look at this place!"

Blaine exhales a laugh, never removing his eyes from the other boy.

"Blaine," he whispers, drumming his fingers against his chest.

"Hi."

"Hi, Blaine." He pauses and smirks, "I thought you said you didn't talk in your sleep anymore."

He narrows his eyes, confused, "What?"

"You have class in a little bit, Blaine. Come on, Blaine…"

* * *

"Blaine, you can't sleep through your Music Theory final. You're good, but you're not that good."

Blaine groans softly against the pillow as he slowly becomes aware of his surroundings. This is the couch, this is his apartment, this is his still-just-best-friend trying to wake him up so he doesn't miss his exam.

"Wht tmsit?" he mumbles, rolling over. Wincing at the light, he rubs his eyes as Kurt pulls his phone out of his pocket.

"Half past three," he supplies, grinning as Blaine struggles to sit up. "This is your last test though, right?" He continues as Blaine huffs a confirmation, "Great. I just finished my last one a little bit ago. I'll go and buy some pretzels and frozen yogurt, and when you get back, we can spend the rest of the day watching movies and vegging out until finals are the last thing on our minds."

"Moulin Rouge?"

"You really have to ask?"

Blaine cracks a half-smile and rolls his shoulders, "You're incredible." He freezes then, the memory of his dream hitting him full force. He hardly registers Kurt's perplexed expression at the abrupt change in demeanor or the quiet response he offers.

"Blaine?" Kurt frowns, worry lacing his features. "Are you alri-_mmph!_"

He pulls away a few seconds later, his face breaking into a grin. Kurt stares at him strangely for a moment before a disbelieving laugh escapes his lips, "Not that I'm complaining, but what on earth was that for?"

"You interrupted my dream," he replies, cheekily adding, "I had no choice but to seek revenge."

Kurt rolls his eyes and inches closer, "Must have been one hell of a dream."

"The best."


End file.
